


On Being a Hero

by skywxlker



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:56:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywxlker/pseuds/skywxlker
Summary: The Lone Wanderer takes some time to gather her thoughts.





	On Being a Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Really short and quick piece to get out some feels and do a bit of practice.  
> Takes place just after Trouble on the Homefront.

"You’re a hero... and you have to leave."  
A hero.  
Me.  
_Ha._

Amata doesn’t know what a hero is. What kind of hero am I? I’m not like any of those old heroes in the comic books we’d find as kids. I’m not like some kind of soldier going to win a war. I didn’t even want to leave the Vault. Isn’t a hero meant to be driven? Determined? I’m just trying to _survive_. And I’m not a bad person… common decency doesn’t make someone a hero. Doing something heroic makes someone a hero. My dad… I guess he was heroic. Or stupid. Or both? 

God.

I’m so angry and upset and confused and lost and so many other things I can’t even begin to explain. I want to scream, and cry, and run away. Run where? I can’t even move. Is this how those people – those skeletons – felt when they were turned away from the Vault? Were they meant to die here, in front of the cold steel door, waiting for some kind of mercy? Why wasn’t I meant to die here? Why give me the chance when so many others have clearly needlessly fallen? 

I can’t breathe out here. It’s not the air. It’s something deep inside me, twisting and convulsing round my heart and lungs to make it hard to even function. Grief. Shock. I don’t know. All I can think of is that I was home again, and now I’m not. I’m exiled. Forever. Running around the Wasteland doesn’t give much opportunity to think and reflect, which I’m grateful for, but now, here, there’s nothing else to do. Being back here forces me to think and reflect and dwell and wish everything would just stop and go back to normal. 

I want my dad back. I hate him. I love him. We never even got to talk this out. Why couldn’t he just talk to me instead of just… of just abandoning me? I’m still… I still needed him. Need him. I can’t do this by myself. What kind of hero needs someone else to hold their hand and guide them? God, I’m so sick of being alone. This is driving me crazy. I’m beginning to forget what innocence felt like. Even happiness. Do heroes feel like this? Alone and afraid and out of control? I suppose they might. I need to stop this. I… I need to go. I’m not a hero. But the Wasteland needs one


End file.
